I miss being young. I miss the frivolity, the innocence, the lack of responsibility and the insulation from any real problems. I miss knowing that I had the world at my feet whilst not having to worry about stepping out into that world for a few more years. I miss having nothing to be accountable for and nothing to stress over except my homework and my plans for the weekend. 

I miss sitting outside the local off licence in the evening and trying to find someone to buy us cigarettes and vodka because, although it was annoying at the time, the world in which sourcing twenty Mayfair was my biggest problem seems so far away, so long ago, but still so desirable and appealing. I miss bickering over whose turn it was to host a gathering at the weekend and deciding who we were going to invite, having to take into account that week’s falling outs and arguments. I miss the park being the centre of my social life and getting served at the social club at the age of fifteen. I miss staying up until 3am, smoking in a random back garden, talking about how we’d probably end up dead soon and the songs we wanted to be played at our funerals. I miss walking around a party, drinking vodka from the bottle with a straw and dancing to songs I’d never listen to sober. I miss taking a sip from my glass of wine and checking the latest cards I’d been dealt in our game of poker, as if we were sitting in a casino in Monte Carlo and not the dining room of a three bed semi in Derbyshire.

I miss waiting outside of the girls toilets whilst they did their makeup. I miss answering back in class and talking over the teacher, knowing I’d get a detention but not really caring because my friends would be getting one too. I miss lounging in the Sixth Form common room, knowing that I didn’t need to get any work done because I was smart enough to do well with no effort. I miss hiding in the toilets to avoid going to assembly and I miss playing hide and seek in our free periods. I miss wandering round the building trying to find my friends and annoy them whilst they were doing work. I miss shouting abuse at the younger kids as they walked past our windows. I miss sneaking down to the tennis courts to smoke and throwing our cigarettes over the fence as soon as we saw a teacher coming. I miss being lectured on how well I could do, the endless potential I had, if only I put the effort in and stopped misbehaving. I miss sitting on the field at lunchtime in summer, the sun shining, chatting casually, knowing that my life was probably already at its peak. 

I miss thinking I was disgustingly fat when in fact I was unhealthily thin. I miss somehow getting through the entire day on a diet of energy drinks, chewing gum and cigarettes. I miss being told that I’d gone too far with my diet and secretly being proud that someone had said that to me. I miss going on walks and debating whether to throw myself into traffic or jump in front of a train. I miss punching walls until my knuckles bled and then taking pictures of them for the aesthetic. I miss throwing my phone at the wall in anger and then praying that I hadn’t smashed it again. I miss sleeping in the spare room because being in my own room made me feel uncomfortable. I miss the feeling of terror that would run through me anytime I was faced with the prospect of being left alone with my own thoughts. I miss having relatives or family friends chase me down the street and beg me to go home to my Mother. I miss knowing that everyone was worried about me. 

It’s easy to look back and romanticise this period of your life. It’s easy to look at the pictures and remember how marvelous it was; stunning good looks, shit loads of friends, great results at school, parties every weekend and nothing to worry about other than your outfit and your social status. There was something so beautiful about being young, something glamorous and almost amorous, as if the entire world revolved around you, every decision you made of the utmost importance, every argument you had of life-changing magnitude, every party you attended steeped in a prestige unattainable for most. It’s easy to remember feeling like you were invincible and easy to forget that, most of the time, you wished that you were anything but. 

You forget the times you used to cry yourself to sleep and feel deeply ashamed for letting your emotions get the better of you. You forget that the reason you argued with people all the time was because you were so unstable that you preferred to degenerate your friends rather than let them try to help you. You forget that the drinking and smoking quickly stopped being exciting and rebellious and rapidly became something you required just to make it through another week. You forget the viciousness with which you hated yourself when you ate something which put you over your calorie target and the guilt you felt if you put weight on. You forget the toxicity of the relationships you relied on and how you could never quite justify them to yourself no matter how hard you tried. You forget that the reason you have no idea what to do with your life is because you’d always planned to kill yourself before you hit twenty.

It’s ok to miss being young because, ultimately, everyone misses being young. It’s almost impossible to avoid glamourising behaviour that was hideously unhealthy because it made you interesting and intriguing, someone who people may not have liked but would always be talking about. To be young is to be selfish, to be carefree and to be titillating in a way you never will be ever again, and it’s only natural to miss that, to long for it, knowing that you can’t have it. You realise your youth is gone, however, when you come to terms with the fact that you’re actually going to have to live your life. The incessant immediacy that guided every decision you took and made you intoxicating and unpredictable is replaced with the reluctant acceptance of adult responsibility. The complete disregard in which you held yourself and those around you is replaced with a cautious acknowledgment that, although much more boring, life will probably be better if you eat properly, drink less and actually attempt to engage in proper, meaningful relationships. You recognize that, whilst your youth was passionate and mysterious, it was never really happy, it was just fleeting moments of euphoria that served as temporary breaks from the almost inhuman amounts of pain you not only had inflicted on you by others, but willingly inflicted on yourself. You can miss being young, but you can never go back – you can merely accept that it’s gone, learn lessons from it, and grow up